


Push Me, Pull Me (Pull Me Out)

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominant Armitage Hux, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Post canon/TLJ, Power Dynamics, Prompt Fill, References to THAT scene, Sparring, Submissive Kylo Ren, Tumblr: kyluxhardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: For theKylux Hardkinks prompt:Post TLJ: Hux makes Supreme Leader Kylo his bitch. Taking pleasure in how the First Order's powerful leader still begs for his cock.[excerpt]:“You’re just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Hux asks breathily. Almost... fondly. Ren looks beautiful in this moment as the starlight spills over his head. The interplay of light and shadow highlights his distinctive features as he further lowers his powerful body into submission, the muscles in his legs trembling from the combination of exhaustion and exaltation.“This is where you belong,” Hux croons. “On your knees, in front of me.”





	Push Me, Pull Me (Pull Me Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Oooph, so I wrestled a bit with the new canon revelations, and what they meant for my own headcanons. @kyluxhardkinks and @softkyluxkinks were great sources for inspiration... and then I saw [**this _brilliant_ piece of art by @FancyMaul**](https://fancymaul.tumblr.com/post/169130973937/um-i-guess-this-kinda-happens-when-you-read-too). *falls over*
> 
> Dear Nonnie: I know I deviated a bit from your prompt, but I loved the potential of it and hope you like where this ended up! <3
> 
> *Title from the song **“Push Me, Pull Me,”** by Pearl Jam  
>  **The story follows a non-linear narrative, alternating between the present and the (not-so-distant) past. However, there is a (mostly) linear progression within both timelines.

 

* * *

 There’s still a part of Hux that’s in disbelief as he gazes upon the self-proclaimed Supreme Leader, stripped and prostrate at his feet. Vulnerable to his whims. Entrusting himself to his hands.

It’s two hours in, and Ren’s skin glistens with sweat and the marks which are the reminders of his resistance. Of his instinct to fight—of the need to demonstrate the brutality of his strength, to direct his prodigious talents outwards, instead of in. Hux’s fingers flex along the seams of his gloves; the leather from the bloggins are much too delicate and supple to offer much in the way of protection, but for his purposes, it is well-suited for his needs. There’s something thrilling about how it tests _both_ of their control, in the way that the thinness of the material serves as the only barrier between the intimacy of their touch.

He can hear the way in which Ren’s breathing quickens, see how his swollen mouth opens as his back arches, seeking succor from any source. Hux draws a finger slowly along Ren’s side. He lingers on the puckered tissue which decorates Ren’s left flank, tracing the circumference of its pink and silvery surface before suddenly pressing deeply—a not-so-subtle reminder of the mistakes of Ren’s past. The pain causes Ren to hiss as his amber eyes flick upwards in defiance.

Hux’s hand flies back so quickly that Ren barely has time to process the movement before a gloved palm meets the flesh of his cheek with a resounding crack. The texture may be buttery soft, but there’s no mistaking its sting. Ren’s skin has just started its angry bloom as Hux’s fingers wind quickly around the locks of his hair, their ebony lengths darkened further from his exertions. Hux tightens his grip, twisting and pulling as he jerks Ren’s head up. He grunts in satisfaction as the challenge in Ren’s eyes initially flares and then dulls, his dark lashes sticky wet as he finally lowers his gaze.

The room is silent except for the muted hum of the generators and Ren’s panting breaths. Hux reaches the count of ten before the tense lines in Ren’s shoulders have lessened. It’s another thing that Hux locks away as he learns how much Ren can take, discovers how hard he can _push_.

With Ren’s eyes down, Hux allows himself to sweep an appreciative gaze over Ren’s muscular torso, paying particular attention to the delicious swell of his buttocks and the hard line of his prick. It bobs out in front of him, angling towards the muscles of his belly in a way that should be nearly impossible given its length and girth. Hux’s own cock gives a twitch when he notes that Ren’s balls are drawn high and tight, his glans flushed an angry purple, shining with the precome that’s dribbling out of its slit.

“That was good,” he murmurs. He steps closer—close enough so that his clad erection lies a hair’s breadth from Ren’s face, so close that he can feel the heat emanating from Ren’s breath. He loosens his grip on Ren’s head and waits.

“Good boy,” he says softly as Ren forces himself to remain still. Ren then looks up, his eyes pleading as Hux nods his assent.

Ren’s dark head moves in, the length of his nose snuffling around Hux’s crotch as if to inhale his scent. When Hux doesn’t stop him he grows bolder, rubbing his bruised cheek against Hux’s thigh, dragging his swollen face along the length of Hux’s erection.

Hux feels the lust pooling in his groin, the line between maintaining control and caving in to his own needs narrowing rapidly as he fights the urge to snap his hips.

“That’s enough,” he commands. He takes a step back; Ren doesn’t make a move to follow although he can’t help the sounds which escape him at the loss. Their pitch approaches a whine, and it makes him sound both desperate and needy.

“You’re just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Hux asks breathily. Almost... fondly. Ren looks beautiful in this moment as the starlight spills over his head. The interplay of light and shadow highlights his distinctive features as he further lowers his powerful body into submission, the muscles in his legs trembling from the combination of exhaustion and exaltation.

“This is where you belong,” Hux croons. “On your knees, in front of me.” His fingers somehow remain remarkably steady despite the thudding of his heart as he works to undo the fastenings of his trousers.

 

**~***~**

Hux heard him—was _aware_ of him—before he had even spoken a word. Before he even had the time to take the inhalation which would precede the pitiful apology that was sure to be forthcoming. Ren had always been _loud_ , even when he wasn’t throwing a tantrum, or destroying lives, or having some sort of an emotional crisis. He was constantly filled with an unsteady and unstable energy—one which couldn’t be contained in the layers he wrapped himself in, whether it be his clothing, or his bluster, or his size.

When the Supreme— well, when _Snoke_ was still alive—he had been able to rein Kylo in. Perhaps not very effectively, as was showcased so brilliantly by the old bugger’s untimely demise. Hux knew that fear and anger could only be contained for so long without an adequate outlet before a bunker buster like Ren would explode.

Ren’s anxiety was palpable, rolling off of him in waves. Hux took a drag of his cigarette as he watched Ren's reflection in the viewport’s transparisteel surface.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Ren said, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

Hux answered Ren’s comment by taking another drag, this time longer than the first.  “Why?” he asked, swiveling around in his chair, “because you worry about my lungs? I can guarantee you, I’ve experienced much worse.”

“I… you…” Ren balled his hands into a fist, looking at that moment every bit the petulant child. “You refused to acknowledge my position.”

Hux spread out his hands. “My apologies. _Supreme Leader.”_

“You’re coming dangerously close to insubordination, General,” Ren said, his gaze narrowing as he took a step forward.

“And you’re dangerously close to not thinking. Tell me, Ren—did the Battle of Crait unfold as you’d wished? How about the debacle that was Starkiller? Looking back, was there anything that you would have done differently in your approach?”

A row of glass flutes shattered across the bar. Hux stopped his hand from reaching instinctively towards his neck. Luckily, the bruises had proved surprisingly easy to heal, although the ones on his ego would take considerably longer.

Ren's voice was low and deadly. “You can be replaced, General.”

Hux arched a brow. “By whom? Who else has the ability to inspire your troops, the technological knowledge of the First Order’s weaponry, and the strategic acumen to defeat the Resistance? _Your_ strength, Ren, lies not in your ability to command. Your strength lies in your abilities with the Force. But no matter what bilge they’ve fed you—no matter your lineage, nor how precocious your powers—you will _never_ use them to your fullest potential if you don’t learn mastery over your unruly emotions.”

“I _had_ a Master,” Ren spat. “More than one!”

“Obviously not the right ones, though.” Hux's smile spread slowly over his face, just wide enough to showcase the sharpness of his teeth. “I’d be so much better.”

 

**~*~**

“Put it on.”

Ren’s eyes widen at the sight of the reactive Force collar which greets his entry, the weight of it cool and foreboding in Hux’s hand.

“No. I won’t be cut off from—”

The refusal is expected, but disappointing. Hux’s leg swings out and catches Ren across the back of his calves, bringing the larger male to his knees. He doesn’t give Ren the chance to think about what’s happened, to allow his surprise at the attack to dissolve into anger.

 _“Put it on,”_ Hux rasps.

Ren stares, and for a minute Hux thinks he may have woefully miscalculated. This is a man who had disposed of his previous Master with a mere flick of his fingers, after all. He hides his relief when Ren’s large hand shoots out in a move to grab the collar.

Hux delivers a stinging rap across Ren’s knuckles. Ren glares at him with unmistakable defiance, then holds out his hand and waits for Hux to place it in his grasp. He places it around his neck, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Hux, but when those pouty lips turn up into a smirk Hux reaches behind, yanks on the clasp and cinches it one notch tighter.

Ren’s yelp is quickly swallowed by the sudden constriction, his breath coming out in uneven huffs. His eyes still flash with anger but now there’s also a wariness at the state of his vulnerability.

“Strip.” Hux holds his gaze; even though Ren’s restrained from the Force, he’s still dangerous and formidable without it. Hux needs him bared, both figuratively and literally, until nothing lies between Ren and himself.

Ren, to his credit, doesn't blink as he removes his tunic. When he gets to his shirt, he hesitates, uncertain of how he can doff it over the thickness of the collar.

Hux steps forward, slipping the monomolecular dagger out from the sheath that’s hidden within the lining of his sleeve. He places the tip of the blade against the shirt’s neck, applying just enough pressure to cut through the Syncloth and to create an indentation in the flesh beneath. He arches a brow as he waits for any dissension from Ren, but when it’s not forthcoming, he draws the blade down and renders the material in two.

“Proceed,” he orders. He slips the weapon back into its sheath, leaving Ren relatively unscathed.

 

**~***~**

Despite his size, Hux _always_ won, even against people who were taller or who bested him in weight and muscle by as many as five stones. It amazed him, the advantage he’s gained from people’s underestimation of his character, whether based on superficialities such as the cadence of his speech or his somewhat delicate appearance. It’s not that he _can’t_ spar—he’s lean and wiry, and ridiculously fast with his hands and his feet. But brute strength was fleeting; bones could be bruised, muscles could fatigue, and spirits could be broken. It was cunning, wit, and determination that afforded Hux the winning edge.

It was also to his opponent’s detriment that Hux was always thinking, one step ahead.

It hadn’t been ten minutes before the Flametrooper had started to tire, his lumbering movements growing easier to predict. Hux drew back his leg and feigned a kick, quickly following through with a right hook. Hux’s punch must have caught at least several ribs, if the satisfying crack and the trooper's subsequent cries were anything to go by. A roundkick to the neck and subsequent liver punch delivered the final blows that caused those muscular legs to buckle.

"Yield! I yield!” the trooper wheezed.

“Tap out.” Hux ground out the order, tightening his chokehold until his defeated opponent did exactly that.

A figure lifted itself from where it had been observing in the shadows.

“You fight dirty, General.” As Ren stepped out into the light, Hux saw that the Supreme Leader had traded in his heavy tunic for a pair of coarseweave trousers and a Tomuon shirt.

“It was a smart fight, and one which fell well within the rules,” Hux countered. He smoothed back his hair as he stepped closer to Ren. “I did what I needed to in order to get the job done.”

“It may have been legal, but it was still dirty,” Ren hummed. “Have you always gotten the job done with such tactics?”

Hux met Ren’s inquisitive stare. “My men have never had any complaints.”

“Perhaps your men are afraid of the consequences, should you lose.”

Hux took another step forward. “Why Supreme Leader. Are you questioning the competency of your highest ranking officer?”

“I am not questioning your competency. I am merely making an observation regarding the required skill sets of someone in your position.”

“Progress requires a clear goal and discipline. The success of the First Order—or the lack thereof—depends on how we manage the unruliness around us.”

“You could have all the discipline in the galaxy," Ren said, barking out a laugh, "without the talent and resources to back it up, you are left with nothing.”

Hux cocked his head. “Such a strange comment, coming from someone who was bested by a mere slip of a girl.”

Ren's eyes glinted dangerously. “You have no right to talk of things which you know nothing about. Even without the use of the Force, I could easily defeat someone like you.”

“Fine.” A cold look settled into Hux’s eyes. “Spar with me, then. Man to man, with only the use of our brains and our brawn.”

A laugh escaped Ren; Hux was pleased to note the trace of uncertainty underlying his bravado. “Your men, General. I wouldn’t want to undermine—”

“Nor would I relish diminishing  _your_ authority in such a public forum, Supreme Leader. Back to your posts!” Hux ordered the group of onlookers, who rapidly scattered. When the last of the personnel had left, he turned back to Ren, gracing him with a mock bow.

“It will be my great pleasure to put you in your place, General,” Ren growled.

“And mine, yours, Ren,” Hux purred in response.

He watched as Ren carefully stripped off his shirt, taking the time to fold it neatly before setting it down. The muscles in his back were gloriously thick, rippling with the smallest of movements. There was a fluidity there, a grace despite Ren’s great power, and the thought of having it laid at his feet filled Hux with an eager anticipation.

They both adopted a fighting stance. Ren’s arms were unnaturally long, even for his great height, and he held his center low, down by his hips and his core. The lean lines of his legs promised power and speed, but Hux knew he would be faster.

They advanced on one another, circling warily with Ren leading with his left. Hux spun, pivoting on his left leg while whipping his right one out. The power from the movement extended down from his hip to his foot as his sole connected with the side of Ren’s knee, knocking Ren backwards and off balance.

Ren roared, lunging at Hux. The surroundings of the gym tilted, the porous surface of the duracrete walls morphing into smooth hybrid plexisteel of the ceiling as Hux fell, the back of his shoulders hitting the mat with enough force to temporarily halt his breath. His head snapped, a dull heat mixing with the pain in his cheek as Ren’s fist connected with his jaw, the force of the impact causing his teeth to rattle.

Hux’s vision blurred and a nausea overtook him as the echoes in the training room hollowed out into something distant. Hux took his elbows and struck out as hard as he could at the vague figure that loomed above him, his legs swinging out from underneath in an attempt to scramble to his knees. They continued for what seemed like hours, the frustration of their sleepless nights and fractured hopes dissipating as they snapped at each other like rabid dogs and bloodied each other with their feet and their fists.

Eventually, their movements slowed as they continued to grapple, leaning heavily against one another in exhaustion. Hux could feel Ren’s sweat soiling his own shirt, the dryness in his mouth bitter with the metallic taste of copper. He reared back with a well-telegraphed right hook which Ren easily intercepted, gasping as Ren twisted his arm while pinning him against a wall.

The first thing that crossed Hux’s mind was that Ren’s hands were huge. His fingers were long enough to encircle both bones in Hux’s wrist, and then some.

The next thing that Hux realized was that Ren was panting. And that Ren was rubbing up against him. And that Ren was _hard._

Hux swallowed heavily as his mind swirled, his bloodlust temporarily forgotten. He had heard the rumors of the monastic existence led by Padawan such as Ren, an upbringing which made Hux’s own days in the Academy seem a literal, fucking orgy. He allowed Ren to frot against him once, then twice, then pushed against Ren’s chest while taking advantage of their sudden distance to bring his left leg around the outside of Ren’s thigh, taking it out.

Ren sprawled onto the floor with a satisfying thud, taking Hux down with him. He reached out for Hux, but Hux had already shifted his weight onto his upper body and was using the pointy ends of his elbows to subdue him.

“You are but an overgrown child,” Hux ground out as Ren let out a whine, unable to stop the snapping of his hips as he sought relief against Hux’s thigh. Hux cupped the front of Ren’s pants, swiping his thumb along the spot which had dampened the fabric as Ren let out another moan. “Look at you. So needy. Such poor show of control.”

“Fuck…” Ren’s eyes were large, the tawny rims of his irises nearly disappearing into the blackness of his pupils as his mouth parted. He thrust in helpless frustration as Hux buckled down and settled on his haunches, wedging his knee between Ren’s thighs.

“Do you yield?” Hux whispered hoarsely into Ren’s ear. When Ren glared at him Hux ground down with his hips, then dug his knee in even deeper.

“Do you?” he repeated as Ren yowled.

“Fuck you,” Ren spat. The saliva dribbled down the side of Hux’s face as Ren managed to rise onto his hands and his knees.

“Bad boy,” Hux hissed. He threw himself onto Ren’s back, using one arm to press Ren’s head into the mat while the other applied pressure around his throat.

Hux allowed himself a small smile at the irony. “Submit,” Hux repeated as Ren’s eyes went glassy, his breaths coming fast in harsh, wheezing gasps.

Ren’s cock remained aching and hard and unattended as he writhed against the mat. After several more seconds, his body went pliant as he finally yielded, tapping out.

 

**~*~**

They’ve been at this for nearly three hours, and Ren still hasn’t used his safeword yet.

 _Endor._ Hux knows its meaning and had frowned upon the sentimentality behind its choice, although in retrospect he wonders if there had been a different reason for choosing the word. Whether it’s a part of Ren that he has purposefully locked away, never to speak of again. Even now, as his body remains biddable, his arms and legs quivering and needy—his lips are bruised and swollen as if from the effort needed to swallow it whole. As if the weight of it was almost too great to hold down.

 _Kriff,_ Hux thinks. It’s been a pleasant surprise to discover just how much he enjoys these sessions, how much he delights in the readiness with which Ren gives himself up. He’s already come once, spilling his release as he thrust frantically into the heat of Ren’s unbelievable mouth, unable to hold back his pleasured cries as Ren’s throat spasmed around his prick.

He slides a third finger into Ren’s loose and wet hole, the lube squelching along his fingers, around and in between their lengths and yet Ren still arches, stretching out that long line of his back, thrusting his ass out in a greater effort to pull Hux in.

Ren’s learned not to beg with his words, but his body still says _Please_ and _Thank you._ It’s the reason why Hux often chooses to take him from behind—away from those expressive eyes, the call of that sinful mouth, the threat of something _more_ when Hux is so dangerously close to losing control himself.

Hux removes his fingers. The plug which Ren has learned to keep inside earlier has already done most of the work. Ren had resisted its presence at first, but he had huffed and panted when Hux removed it, as if aching from its loss. The tender tissue is swollen and glistens obscenely, surrounding a gaping hole.

Hux barely has time to slick himself up before he’s pressing the head of his cock against Ren’s rim. It widens readily for him; he grips the sides of Ren’s hips, his sharp nails marking crescent shapes into the white flesh as he slams into Ren with one smooth stroke. Ren wails with delight as his cock jolts from the force, dribbling more precome into the pool that's already staining the floor. Hux grinds his pelvis against Ren’s buttocks in response, then draws back and slams into him once more.

Hux girds himself, entangling Ren’s hair in the fingers of his right hand as bruises bloom under the ones of his left. He takes and takes and takes, and yet Ren still gives and gives and gives. He feels his balls tighten as the heat builds along his groin, signs of his impending orgasm. He slumps over to take Ren’s needy cock into his hand.

Hux chances to look at Ren’s face. What he sees nearly bowls him over—as Hux's fingers wrap around that thick length Ren looks up not in fury, but in gratitude, as if Hux had just handed him the entire galaxy and all the power within it on a silvered platter.

 

**~***~**

He caught Ren exiting his quarters several days later. Perhaps “caught” was not the appropriate word, considering Hux had changed his route from the bridge to his quarters in the knowledge that Ren spent his time meditating (“Force-bonding,” or whatever the name was for such cosmic hokum) during this hour. He knew that Ren was in there now, trying to reach The Girl, and that his attempts had grown increasingly desperate after the events of the Throne Room, a foul disaster which carried the lingering stink of manipulation and betrayal.

Hux knew this—not because he was born with an excessive amount of midi-chlorian fodder, but because he felt it in his gut as well. Hux had _always_ known Ren’s fears, at least the ones which similarly drove his very own ambitions. He’d understood the burden of guilt and the shame of emotion, had empathized with the overwhelming desire to be understood and accepted, and had lived every day with the unbearable thought that he might not succeed. He’d spent too many sleepless nights fearing his failure, and the possibility of ending up with absolutely nothing, all alone.

Hux thought it noteworthy that the leader of the First Order should choose to remain in his old rooms, so small and spartan. The durasteel doors slid open, their sound mimicking Ren’s slow exhalation as he spied Hux, standing several feet away. The circles under his eyes were red-rimmed, a perfect match to the darkness of Hux’s own.

Hux drew himself up fully. “Forgive me my bluntness, Supreme Leader. But you look like absolute shit. You might want to take a trip to the medbay. They could give you a soporific, to help you sleep.”

“I am not going to taint my body with Dipills, or worse.”

“You can’t continue in this same manner, either,” Hux countered. “You’re falling apart, Ren. You have all this power at your fingertips, yet you feel even less in control. Your inability to manage your emotions has caused you to sever all your connections, for better or worse. Where is everyone now? Your family? The Girl? Your Uncle? Snoke?”

The knowledge of just how little there was left must have blindsided Ren with the starkness of its reality. “There’s no one,” he whispered, his face crumpling further.

“You still have me.” Hux tilted forward onto the balls of his feet as he whispered into Ren’s ear. The words skated along the edges, making Ren shudder with the heat of their promise.

“If you truly want to be taught… if you want a _different_ kind of lesson, meet me in my quarters in precisely one hour.”

 

**~*~**

When Kylo taps on Hux’s doors at precisely 00 30 hours, it’s not like the first time, when he was so nervous and defiant.

It’s not like the second time either, when he was left writhing on the floor, reduced to a filthy display of wanton shamelessness.

It’s not like the third or fourth times, when Kylo tested the limits of his restraint by removing his collar, his body flinching from the repeated lashes of Hux’s belt as the glassware in the room rattled and shattered.

Now he waits, pleased to receive whatever Hux sees fit to grant him. He’s grateful for Hux’s discipline, a slut for his praise, a beggar for his touch. He appears at Hux’s doorstep not when he is told to, but when he needs it. When he realizes that he is falling, trapped by his self-pity and anger. When he is stuck in the place where his guilt sucks him in, and from where he needs Hux to pull him out.

He no longer greets Hux with sullenness, but with something akin to reverence. In this setting, the Supreme Leader does not call out to his Grand Marshal, but to his Master.

 

  
  
Hux brings his mouth down over Ren’s shoulder and bites, adding to the yellow and purple bruises which decorate his skin. When Kylo cries out, Hux gives in to his curiosity and kisses him for the first time. Kylo’s lips taste salty and sweet, and his skin smells not only of the fragrance of his Eukamint soap, but also of the scent of Hux’s Algoraspice cologne. It is with a slight desperation that Hux realizes he is no longer able to tell where the line of demarcation with Kylo ends, and where he himself begins.

He reaches down and gives Kylo’s cock several quick tugs. It spills warm and sticky all over his hand as Hux draws him close, holding him nearer.

Hux is a realist. A pragmatist. He knows that this is what the First Order needs to win, what the Supreme Leader needs to ascend to the true heights of his power, and to effectively rule.

And during those times where he dares to look a little closer, he knows that this is what he needs, too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, Star Wars fam!
> 
> *Thanks to M for motivating me with all your delicious Kylo headcanons, J for their reassurances, and P for the tagging advice <33 And thanks, @FancyMaul, for allowing me to link your gorgeous work!
> 
> **Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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